


The Drunkard and the Mad Queen

by Zana



Category: Snow White and the Huntsman (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 16:02:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zana/pseuds/Zana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Huntsman drank to remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drunkard and the Mad Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babykid528](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babykid528/gifts).



The thing was, he didn’t drink to forget. He never had. Forgetting Sarah had never been an option.

He never used to drink, back Before. A pint or two with his friends, sometimes, and the night before their wedding he’d gotten roaring drunk just to see what it was like, but he’d never really felt the appeal. Being drunk was disorienting and unpleasant, and when he scaled things back to just tipsy he tended to say things he shouldn’t, things that people took amiss. It often ended with him face-down in the mud, hurting.

Not that that didn’t have its appeal, after Sarah died. Face-down in the mud was better than alone with his thoughts. Having someone to pound the fear of God into him reminded him that he was alive. As long as things still hurt, he was alive.

But even the satisfaction of brawling wouldn’t have brought him back to the pub, night after night, morning after morning.

The Huntsman drank to remember. He drank because there was a place, right at the edge of too drunk to stand, when he heard her voice. _Idiot_ , Sarah said, exasperated and fond, _is this really what you want your life to be, now?_

 _Yes_ , he would tell her, with that stubborn certainty of the very drunk. _Yes, this is my life, now. Come back and make it better_. But she never did.

 

The weeks in the forest with Snow White, and the battle after, were the longest stretch that the Huntsman had gone without a drink since Sarah’s death. It made him antsy, not to hear Sarah, and it was for that reason that he packed his bag right after the coronation.

It felt like sneaking away, to leave without saying goodbye. Still, he knew it was the best option available. If he stayed, he’d have to watch William wooing the Queen. And even if Snow White refused William, it wasn’t as if she’d want a peasant huntsman. And even if she did…

Even if she did, there was still Sarah. He wasn’t the sort of man to forget his word. He’d promised to love Sarah for all eternity. He intended to fulfill that promise.

 

He was well on his way to getting shit-faced at a pub less than four leagues from the castle when a royal messenger arrived. It was William.

The man looked with distaste at the dingy room. “Couldn’t you find a better place to drink?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.

“I thought no one would follow me here,” the Huntsman said. He concentrated on his ale, gritting his teeth with the effort not to topple over.

William gave him an appraising look. “You’re in no condition to see the Queen,” he said.

“Nor have I any wish to,” the Huntsman told him. He managed to take another swallow of ale without letting his hands shake. He was irrationally proud of that.

“The Queen, however, has a wish to see _you_ ,” William said coldly. “Messengers have been sent along all the main roads to seek you.”

It must have been galling for a duke’s son, a hero of a battle less than a day gone, to be corralled into such a duty. William was a good man, the Huntsman reminded himself. He had proven himself loyal. By rights, there should be no antagonism between the two of them.

“For what purpose does the Queen seek me?” he asked. “I wish for no reward. I wish solely to return to my home.” His home, where he hadn’t set foot for more than a year. His lie turned to ash in his mouth.

Humor suddenly bloomed in William’s dark eyes. “I believe she intends to inflict a knighthood upon you,” the man said. “And she’s indicated she intends to offer you a position in her household.”

The Huntsman stared at William, wondering if there was an interpretation of his words that didn’t mean “she wishes you to warm her bed.”

William sighed. “You needn’t look so appalled. She mentioned Captain of the Guard.”

The Huntsman suddenly devoutly wished that he hadn’t drunk quite so much. “She must be mad,” he mumbled.

William shrugged, half his mouth tugging upward in a smile. “When you leave someone locked up for more than half their life, you can’t expect sanity to be their finest trait.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t make _you_ Captain of the Guard.”

“Field Marshall of the Royal Army,” William said by way of explanation.

“My congratulations.”

“My father’s a bit put out, but at least it stays in the family.”

“Did she make you a knight, too?”

“Yes. Everyone who rode with us to battle.”

The Huntsman relaxed a little. “Sir Eric,” he said, trying out the name on his tongue. He shook his head and chuckled. “She’s mad.”

“You can tell her so.” William clapped him on the shoulder, and stood to leave. “You’re in no shape to ride; we’ll bunk here and leave at dawn.”

The Huntsman had not come so far to be left unfulfilled. He stayed in the pub until Sarah whispered to him that his conduct was unbecoming of a knight of the realm.

“Not a knight of the realm yet,” he told her, but he felt immeasurably better hearing her voice.

 

He wished his clothes were more fit to be seen by royalty. They weren’t bad clothes; perfectly serviceable for the work he did. And at least they were clean. But still, appearing at Court was nerve-wracking enough without worrying that he looked exactly like the peasant he was. What was the Queen thinking, making a commoner a knight of the realm?

Apparently she wasn’t thinking much like a Queen at all, because she rushed out to meet him on the steps of the castle, her face glowing. The happiness of her smile took his breath away. He had to forcibly restrain himself from taking her in his arms.

Instead, she grasped his hands in hers. “You came back,” she said.

If she were going to be monarch, she would have to learn to hide her emotions. He did not relish the thought that he was likely the person who would have to teach her that. “I came by order of my Queen.” It came out sharper than he’d intended; he watched her face fall, and could have kicked himself.

She composed herself quickly, though, smoothing her dress to occupy her hands. She was already learning – he was already teaching. “Of course. We’ve several matters to discuss. The ceremony will take place this afternoon in full Court.”

For one endless moment, the Huntsman thought she was referring to _marriage_. All the air rushed out of his lungs when he realized the ceremony she referred to was his knighting. He felt dizzy.

“As you wish, your Highness,” he managed.

“After the ceremony, I hope you will come to my study. William and I have a proposal to put to you.”

Damn it, she didn’t even realize that all her words could have a double meaning. “As you wish,” he whispered.

“And you will be assigned quarters, of course,” she said. She bit her lip, looking suddenly nervous. “That is… if you will stay?”

“I serve at your Highness’s command.”

She frowned; it was not the answer she wanted. But the Huntsman couldn’t give her the answer she wanted. He wanted to flee, to escape deep into the forest and nurse his wounds. Staying with her would be torture.

 

There seemed to be an inordinate number of young women in the throne room. The Huntsman frowned, but he marched past them. Snow White had likely never known women her own age during Ravenna’s reign; he couldn’t begrudge her wanting new friends. But surely Snow’s mother had had no more than six ladies in waiting? Nigh on fifty seemed… excessive.

He reached the dais as he realized who they must be, and he almost stumbled. These were the lucky ones, who had only had to spend years as withered crones. Ravenna had bathed in blood, eaten human hearts, flayed people alive… Snow White had almost been one of these women.

William had been generous enough to lend him appropriate clothing, and the Huntsman thanked the God he didn’t believe in for that when he saw that Snow was wearing the same robes she’d worn yesterday for her coronation.

Within a quarter of an hour, he was both a Knight of the Realm and Captain of the Queen’s Guard, with an estate in the country and a yearly income. The old advisors to the left of the throne exchanged grim glances as the blows fell. Eric would not be starting out with many friends.

As far as he could tell, the Queen’s Guard was not actually a real entity yet; he would have to create them from the castle guard and interested men from the royal army. He’d have to ask William about that; it wouldn’t do to poach his men without consulting him first.

“You missed the feast.” The page assigned to him was a lanky lad, barely twelve but almost as tall as a man. “I wish she’d have another, for you.” The Huntsman followed the boy to his new quarters. He stepped into the room and stopped dead.

He was a man of simple tastes, and he’d never much cared for the luxury he couldn’t afford. He and Sarah had enjoyed the comforts of a cottage. He swallowed, hard, at the opulence before him. It was almost sinful, this room.

_Fit for a king._

“These are the old King’s chambers,” the page said. Eric recoiled. A man – a king – had died in these chambers. “The Queen was very angry, but all the other chambers had been assigned. She refused to give you lesser rooms. Her counselors could not sway her.”

Snow would have to learn which battles were worth fighting. A haunted set of rooms was not the place to plant her sword in the sand. There was no way Eric could sleep here. He’d just have to tell her so.

 

The new queen stood on the far side of her audience chamber, watching a flock of birds just outside the window. There was a queer expression on her face as she watched them flit and preen. In an opposite corner, William was studiously ignoring the both of them by pretending to review a ledger.

The Huntsman shuffled his feet, then cleared his throat to get her attention. Finally, he managed a “Your Highness?”

She started, and turned. “Huntsman – Sir Eric,” she corrected herself. She gave him a small smile. “Thank you for coming.”

“I am at your service.” She would weary of these dutiful platitudes soon enough, but for now, they were all he could summon.

“I am in need of a trusted companion. I hope you will give me your counsel.”

“It would be an honor.”

Time stood still for a long moment as they stared at each other. Then she swallowed and looked away, pink tingeing her cheeks. She looked tired, he noticed. There were circles under her eyes again, circles he had hoped would finally be banished when she gained her crown.

Three days ago, she had been dead, he reminded himself. And yet, she hadn’t looked quite so tired.

Snow White reached for the parchments strewn on her writing table. “I know little enough about ruling,” she said quietly. “Everybody wants something from me, and I don’t know who I can trust.”

“I can render little aid on that account, Highness,” he said. “Politics have never been my forte.”

Beyond her shoulder, William shifted and glared at him.

She bit her lip. “You and William are the only people I know I can trust,” she said. “A queen needs trusted advisors.”

“She needs _learned_ counselors,” the Huntsman said, even as he steeled himself not to respond to the bewilderment in her eyes. He couldn’t do it – he couldn’t. He could captain her guard, but to be in her presence every day, to be her confidante and advisor… It would be torture.

Eric would be faithful to his wife. That meant removing himself from temptation.

“We could learn together,” she faltered. A queen shouldn’t have to beg. She still expected him to be a good man; somehow the fact that he’d abandoned her back at the women's village had failed to register.

It was time for an offensive. “Has your Highness got a taste for scandal?” the Huntsman demanded. “Do you not realize what will be said – what is already being said? We were in the Black Forest for weeks, unchaperoned. You have bestowed a position and lands far beyond what gratitude calls for. They’d take anyone after Ravenna, but that won’t last long. There will talk, and it will undermine you.”

She looked surprised, as if it honestly hadn’t occurred to her that anyone could see scandal in what lay between them. Irrationally, that made him even more angry; it meant that she had never shared these feelings. The longing was all on his side, then.

Then she narrowed her eyes, and he could see her pondering on something. He wanted to squirm under her gaze. Finally, she spoke, and it was not the speech of a friend or companion; it was the order of a queen. “Tell me the reason you do not wish this honor.”

The answer came almost instantaneously, and he blessed the gods that it managed not to escape his mouth. _As your counselor, I’d have to advise you to make a strong marriage alliance. I’d have to give you to another man._

When he finally escaped, he found the palace wine cellar. Maybe if he created enough scandal through his drinking, she’d send him away. William and the page carried him back to his rooms far after midnight, and he was too drunk to protest about sleeping in a dead man’s bed.

 _Say yes_ , Sarah told him.

 _I can’t_ , he told her.

_You can. She needs you._

I _need you._

 _Say yes_ , she insisted.

 

He did.

 

It was barely a month later.

“News of Ravenna’s death is spreading. We should send ambassadors to the neighboring realms before anyone gets it in their head to attack an untried queen,” William said to the council of advisors one morning.

“Untried?” Eric frowned. “She defeated a sorceress. I doubt anyone will test her soon.” The other counselors nodded sagely in agreement; no one wanted to think about another war.

“Not in the next year, no,” William agreed. “But memory fades quickly enough. We need to strategize for the long term.”

Lord Arken, the sour-faced old greybeard who was fast becoming the Hunstman’s personal thorn in his side, brought up the question they had all begun to dread. “Has your Highness given any further consideration to a marriage alliance…?”

Snow White rose from her seat with a certain majesty and glared at the council. “I have not. I have told you, I will not marry. My father’s marriage plunged our realm into misery and famine; I see no reason why I should follow in his footsteps.”

Eric tuned out the now-familiar argument that followed. He started planning the rotation of guard duty for the next week, and looked up to see Snow sweeping out of the room in frosty silence. Well, that was one way to shut the old fools up.

A smile was playing on William’s lips. Eric was about to join him, when he suddenly thought of a possible reason for William’s good humor. He felt the bottom of his stomach fall away suddenly as a horrible jealousy crashed over him.

 _I did not marry a fool or a drunkard_ , Sarah told him gently that night. He lay on the floor of the wine cellar, too drunk to move. He must have consumed most of a cask. Funny, he couldn’t remember coming here.

 _People change_ , he told her.

_Not you. You are a good man._

He closed his eyes; he couldn’t even face her ghost. _I’m not. If I were a good man, I’d never have kissed her._

_If you’d never kissed her, she would be underground by now._

_With you._

_With me_ , she said.

 

“Really,” Snow said, striding into the guard tower as though she came there every day, “I don’t understand why it’s either stone sober or dead drunk. You are always one or the other.”

It had been a foolish idea to drink here, where any of his men could walk in. Eric knew it, and he hated himself for it. He hated himself more for the damning evidence before his queen, a pile of empty bottles.

“Are you going to marry William?” he asked.

It took his brain a good ten seconds to catch up with his voice, and he promptly decided he should never drink again. He knew exactly how long that promise would last, though.

A thousand expressions crossed her face, finally settling on grim resolve.  “I told you, I will not marry.”

He paused. She was serious. “But you have to marry,” he argued. Eric had thought it a ploy, a card to play against her advisors until she gave in to gain some other advantage.

“I see no reason why,” she said, not looking at him. He studied the long, artless flow of her hair, shining in the candlelight.

“You are a queen. You must ensure the lineage.”

She seemed unconcerned. “I can name an heir.”

Her nonchalance angered him. “Have you no notion of how these things work? Your word is not enough, not after you’re gone. It’s blood that people respect, not words.”

He glanced over at her, wishing he were sober enough to read her expression. Not that he could these days, even sober. The very first lesson she’d learned as Queen was to mask her thoughts, even from her counselors. Especially from her counselors.

“Do you think I should marry William?”

All the air went out of his lungs. He slumped, resting his forehead on the cool stone of the table, trying to stop the room from spinning around him.

“I hear Alcantria in the east will send a formal delegation, requesting alliance. Two realms are stronger than one, I suppose, but the prince is said to be feeble-minded,” Snow said calmly. He’d seen her more passionate about the wheat yield.

 _Kiss her_ , said Sarah.

“What?!”

“Perhaps feeble-minded could be worked to my advantage?” the Queen mused.

 _You’re mad_ , Eric told his dead wife, and he took a swig directly from the bottle. Both Sarah and Snow White frowned at him.

 _You’ve done it before. Why not now?_ Sarah asked.

 _Because she’s not dead now! And because you are!_ he snapped back.

“Sir Eric?” Snow White sounded concerned. “Are you unwell?”

“Very unwell, your Highness,” he agreed, and took another gulp of wine.

She made an impatient noise and snatched the bottle from his hand. “I should know better than to try to talk to you when you’re like this,” she said, her grey eyes stormy.

“You should.”

“You’re impossible.” She stomped out, her back rigid with fury.

“You’re beautiful,” he muttered into the table.

 _You are a fool_ , Sarah sighed.

 

The Huntsman awoke the next morning with a throbbing headache and the taste of shame in his mouth.  The queen knew he was a drunkard, and no doubt after last night, so did his men.  He was no fit Captain of the Guard.

Because he was a coward, he proffered his resignation with the rest of the council in attendance, so she could not ask questions.  Stone-faced, she accepted the papers from him, and said nothing.  Part of him had hoped he was worth arguing for, but she moved on to other business without even looking at him.

William, at least, was angry.  When the Queen dismissed the councilors, he followed Eric out.  “What the devil?” he hissed as soon as they were alone.  “How can you abandon her now?”

“The matter is between the Queen and myself,” Eric said shortly, trying to move past the man.  “I’ll thank you not to interfere.”

William grabbed his shoulder, banked fury glowing in his eyes.  “There are rumblings of war in the west, and famine.  I’m to be promised to the Alcantrian princess to solidify that alliance, but the Queen can’t lose both her Captain off Guard and her Field Marshall at once.”

Eric looked pointedly at the other man’s hand on his shoulder.  William hastily removed it, muttering an apology.

“She’ll have to,” Eric said slowly.  “I am not fit to captain her personal guard, and she knows it.”

“Did she say so?” William insisted.

 _Either stone sober or dead drunk…_ “She did.”

William slumped.  “Damn.”

 

He packed quickly, hoping to be out of the fortress by sunset.  He didn’t care where he went next, so long as there was ale and plenty of it.

She didn’t knock, which shouldn’t have surprised him.  This was her castle; she could go where she liked.  If she’d always avoided the site of her father’s death, well, that was understandable.

She didn’t knock, just swept in looking every inch a queen.  She’d gotten better at it, more regal with each passing day and icy glance.  The circles under her eyes were almost black; she no longer looked like a girl.

He waited for heated words, but they didn’t come.  He turned back to his packing.  He owned pitifully little, even now.  He’d given up the estate this morning; you couldn’t drink an estate.  Even his sword was not his own.

He glanced up when the silence continued.  Snow White had gone very pale, almost as pale as the first time he’d seen her.  She stood perfectly still, eyes staring blankly at the bed, and her hands betrayed the barely perceptible trembling.

“Highness,” he said sharply, and she started.  He watched her compose herself swiftly, but her eyes kept straying to the bed.  If he were a better man, he would offer to move the conversation to a more hospitable venue, but he wanted this done with.

“What is the real reason for your resignation?”  The voice a queen’s voice, but the look in her eyes was that of the girl he’d protected in the Forest.

“A drunkard has no place commanding men,” he said.

“That’s easily enough mended by _ceasing to drink_ ,” she hissed.

“I cannot stop, Highness,” he said hoarsely, shoving the last shirt in his small bag.  He couldn’t look at her.

“Why not?”  A queen should not have to plead.

A good man would take pity on the desperation in her voice, the loneliness.  Eric was not a good man.  He was a man who would bring disgrace upon his queen if he stayed.  It was time to show her that he wasn’t the man she thought he was.  He rounded on her.

“If I stopped, I would not be able to keep myself from taking unimaginable liberties with the woman I love.”

 _Hell’s teeth._   Those were not the words he’d meant to say.

She stared.  He stared back.  He knew she’d understood what he meant, even if he hadn’t put it well.

She glanced over at the bed again.  “I cannot discuss this here, not with the shadow of death hanging over us.  Come to my chambers.”  She turned on her heel and left.

He stared after her.  She really was becoming a queen these days.  She’d not even considered the possibility that he wouldn’t follow.

He glanced at the bed, shuddered, and picked up his bag.

 

“What does drinking have to do with loving me?” Snow demanded as soon as he’d shut the door.

He’d never seen her chambers before.  They were spare, almost austere.  There were none of the girlish baubles he would expect.  But then, she’d never had much of a chance to be girlish, had she?

“Your Highness, I should not have spoken,” he said gently.

She glared up at him, moving in so closely that he stepped back.  He didn’t trust himself within arm’s reach; the compulsion to take her in his arms and thread his fingers through her hair was almost overwhelming.

“You’ve spoken, and you will explain yourself,” she said haughtily.

“Do you command it, your Highness?” he asked carefully.

She paused, confused.  “No…” she said after a long moment.  “I do not command it.  I ask it of you.”

Eric swallowed.  That made things harder.  He couldn’t stand so close to her, so he crossed the room to gaze out the window.  “You know I am a married man.”

“A widower.”

He flinched.  “A widower,” he agreed.  “I gave Sarah an oath to love her for the rest of my life.”

“I believe the customary words are, ‘Til death do us part.’”

“I have never been one for custom,” he admitted.

“Oh.”  He heard her skirts moving, but she did not come too close.  He was grateful.  “You regard your feelings for me as a betrayal of your vow to your wife.”

He swallowed.  He was surprised to find that he wanted to weep.  “Yes.”

“It must be very difficult for you to have to spend so much of each day in my presence.”  He could hear tears in her voice.

“Yes.”

“The drinking helps?”

No, it didn’t help.  But it was all he had left of Sarah.  It was the only way he could find the strength to keep his vow.  He gripped the stone window ledge until his knuckles went white.  He felt like his heart would burst from his chest.

She came closer, and he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.  He wanted to scream at her to leave him be.  He wanted to gather her in his arms and crush his mouth against hers.  A single, shuddering sob tore through his chest.

He did not recognize his voice when he finally spoke, long minutes later.  “I can see her again, when I’ve drunk enough,” he said.  “I know it’s just in my mind, but it keeps me alive.”

She moved into his field of vision at last, her forehead creased in a frown.  “Is she the one who was in the guard room last night?  She told you to kiss me?”

Eric stared at her.  Surely, she would not mock him when she’d brought him so low?  Could she possibly have seen Sarah?  “What – _how –_?”

“I didn’t think she was one of our ghosts,” Snow said.  “But there are so many, after Ravenna; it is hard to tell.”

“ _Ghosts?_ ”

“The young women usually stay together.  Sometimes I can’t tell who is living and who is specter.  Last night, I thought --  I thought she was alive, until she spoke.  She didn’t know I could hear, and most of the ghosts know by now.”

“You see _ghosts_?”

She shrugged, looking uncomfortable.  “They were my only companions locked in that tower for so many years.”

“And your father’s room – he was _there_ just now?”

“Not always,” she hurried to assure him, as if that somehow made it better.

His mind whirling, he grasped onto the one thread that seemed key.  “ _You saw Sarah?_ ”

“Yes,” she said, just a little impatiently.

“I’m not… I’m not mad?”

“No.”  She smiled sadly, and gently squeezed his hand.  “I’m the only mad one here, I’m afraid.”  When he continued to stare at her, doubtful, she sighed.  “I’ll show you.”

 

The Queen and her Huntsman got drunk on the very best wine Eric had ever tasted.  At the bottom of the second bottle, Sarah took his hands.  She smiled at Snow White, who was trying valiantly to sit upright but was listing to the left, against Eric’s side.  Snow smiled back.  The circles under her eyes had faded a little.

“Now will you believe me, love?” Sarah asked quietly.

Eric shook his head, as much to clear it as in response.  “How can this be real?”

She ignored that.  “It’s time for you to start living, Eric.  I never wanted you to spend your life miserable on my account.”

“Or on mine,” Snow hiccupped.  She was fading fast; she laid her head on the writing table and closed her eyes.

Eric squeezed his eyes shut.  “Will you stay?”  He wasn’t sure which one of them he was asking.

“Yes,” Snow whispered, not opening her eyes.

Eric rose unsteadily, and lifted the sleeping queen in his arms.  He concentrated very hard on walking a straight line to her bed, aware of how precious his burden was to him and to her realm.  Thankfully, it was a short enough journey to lay her in the bed.  He lay down next to her, knowing that it was a bad idea but too tired and drunk to remember why.

“Goodbye, love,” Sarah’s voice drifted over the two of them.

The Huntsman slept with his queen in his arms.


End file.
